God In The Stars
by Unoriginality
Summary: Alfons is not a religious man, until he finds a god.


Alfons was a scientist, logical, rational, intelligent. He was a chemist, interested in the reactions of hydrogen and nitrogen for rocket fuel; an engineer who plotted and planned the most efficient and aerodynamically sound designs and put together machines intended to someday carry man away from this planet. And he was something of an astronomer- the stars were his goal, the heights he reached for, and rockets were the steps he intended to use to get there.

Alfons Heiderich was a scientist, not a religious man, despite his upbringing (proper Lutheran, of course). He didn't believe in gods, or concepts such as heaven and hell, or sins defined by ancient religions that had led those that still desired to trod that way for far too many centuries. Those were old and outdated definitions for abstract concepts, concepts Alfons wanted to search for and find the answers to in his own way.

He was a spiritual man, something he considered to not be mutually exclusive to his status as a scientist, something he could be without buying into trappings of a church. Man had searched for God, for answers within, and the answers lay there, certainly; people were of the same elements as the stars themselves, after all, Alfons firmly believed that. But centuries of searching within had not yielded answers that Alfons felt comfortable with, so the next direction to turn was outward and upward, for those distant companions, for mankind's own kith and kin that burned light years away.

Alfons did not believe in gods, until the day Edward Elric came into his life.

The man was the sun, golden long hair that he kept pulled up in a neat ponytail, and gold eyes- gold, not brown! -that seemed to perpetually look off into some other realm. This man had made science a religion, worshipping at its altar, an art that Alfons, and none of the others in the group, could replicate. He knew things he shouldn't know. Chemical reactions that had never been heard of, alloys nobody had known about.

And yet, the man was a complete and total idiot. He knew very little of the Great War, of the results, of the way Germany had been, to be perfectly frank, royally screwed over. He knew nothing of flying machines, except that 'one had crashed on him' at some point, which Alfons supposed explained the fake arm and leg.

Even those limbs were marvels; Edward claimed that his father had made them for him, and called them 'outdated automail', whatever 'automail' was, and how these fantastic bits of machinery that somehow hooked into nerves and responded like real limbs.

Alfons could remember quite clearly the first time he found out Edward had those; they were so superb, they'd fooled everyone into thinking they were a real arm and leg, Edward keeping his gloves on to hide the sickly color of his false arm.

"Sorry it's not up to Pinako's standards, Edward," Alfons could hear Edward's father say as he opened the door to their shared apartment- expenses made it smarter to room together than to try to stay apart.

"Nobody is up to Grandma's standards," Edward replied. "The old broad could build circles around anyone in Rush Valley."

Rather than startling to two Elric men, one of whom was somewhat high-strung, Alfons decided to announce his presence before he got out of the foyer and into the living room. "I'm home, Edward!"

Edward made panicky noises as Alfons stepped into the living room. He stopped and stared. Edward was stripped down to his boxers, revealing two false limbs, one attached to his left leg just above the knee, and a full right arm and shoulder made of some sickly yellow colored fake flesh. A strap across his chest held the arm on.

"E- I- Edward?" Alfons couldn't make a full sentence, he was lucky he'd managed to say Edward's full name.

Hohenheim looked at Edward. "It seems your roommate is easily embarrassed, Edward," he said with a look of amusement as he fiddled with the right shoulder joint.

Edward's forehead fell to meet the palm of his left hand. "Hi, Alfons. Don't mind us, my father's almost done with my automail."

Alfons stared some more. "Edward, what- what happened to your limbs? You had perfectly normal limbs yesterday!"

Edward lifted his head to scowl. "I've had fake limbs since I was eleven," he said. "These aren't as high tech as I'm used to, but they work well enough." He looked at his father. "And don't you apologize for that. Winry would have a cow if she knew someone besides her grandmother was better than her, so it's just as well I won't be going home with proper automail."

This all seemed like a foreign language to Alfons. "Automail? How, Edward, prosthetics don't work like regular limbs. What _are_ those?"

"Technology from my home," Edward replied, shrugging his good shoulder.

"And yet you knew nothing of flying machines," Alfons said with a flat look.

Hohenheim chuckled. "I'll leave you to figure out how to explain this," he said, gathering up his tools. "Your arm and leg are in fine condition for another month at least."

Edward glared at his father. "Thanks, old man," he grumbled, then grabbed his pants and pulled them on.

Alfons decided to look somewhere else. He'd die of embarrassment if his crush became obvious to Edward; the false limbs not making him any less attractive to Alfons. He was still like a god, a scarred and fallen savior that still held his divinity.

"Oh relax," Edward grumped at him, grabbing his shirt. "It's not that big of a deal."

Alfons cautiously looked over, and noticed just under the strap, a large circular scar that spread across Edward's chest like a star gone supernova. "Edward, what happened to you?"

Edward blinked. "Huh? Oh, just an accident in Dad's lab. Blew off my arm and leg. That was a long time ago, though. Six years now."

Alfons shook his head. "No, well, yes, that too, but there's- your scar on your chest, what happened?"

Edward froze, shirt half pulled on. The look on his face made a believer out of Alfons, seeing the weight of the universe resting on those strong shoulders which suddenly didn't seem strong enough at that vulnerable moment. "I- ... I lost a fight," he said quietly, pulling his shirt there rest of they way on and buttoning it, hiding the large scar. "I was..." His voice dropped off. "I was murdered. My brother saved me. That's why I'm here, I'm trying to get home to him."

Alfons had to find a seat to sit down in. Murdered? Clearly that wasn't entirely true, if his brother had saved him, but he supposed Edward had been on the brink of death when his brother came along. But what doctors could save a patient from a wound that would make a scar like that? Miracles that Alfons at one time would never have believed in.

"Wait, what? What do you mean? How is working on rockets in a group as poor as we are helping you get home?"

Edward tucked his shirt in and grabbed his vest, pulling it on. "Long story, don't feel like going into it right now."

"Edward-"

Before Alfons could say more to protest, to try to worm the story out of his roommate, Edward stepped over, his hands cupping Alfons's face, his good knee resting on Alfons's and his lips capturing Alfons's in a rough kiss. Alfons's whole face burned as his lips began to tingle, nerves misfiring. He was grateful he was already sitting, or else his knees might not hold him upright.

Edward withdrew, and headed for the kitchen. "Want some coffee?" he called back.

Alfons sat, stupefied, then slowly kicked his brain back into gear. "Um. Yes, please." Actually, he wanted something stronger than that, but coffee would do for now. He got up and followed Edward into the kitchen. "Why'd you do that?"

Edward paused in setting up the percolator. "Because I wanted to. Didn't you want me to? I've seen the way you look at me sometimes." He seemed so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that Alfons wanted to strangle him. Were gods always smartasses?

Alfons turned bright red. "I- ... okay, I can't deny it, but Edward, for gods sakes, we're criminals now. Or don't you pay attention enough to _this_ world that you didn't know that?"

He wasn't sure what startled Edward more in what he said, but Edward looked more than a little spooked. "Criminals? Wait, how did you know I was from another world?"

Alfons stared at him. "That was an expression. What do you mean you're-"

Edward sighed, cutting him off. "Nothing, Alfons. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

It was Alfons's turn to sigh. He stepped closer and kissed his roommate (maybe new boyfriend?). "Try me," he whispered.

Edward looked at him with a distant stare that still managed to hold a warmth, like far-away stars. "Tonight," he said in a hushed tone. "When we go to bed, you can come to my room, and I'll tell you then."

Alfons smiled, kissed him again, just to taste the lips of a god before he drew back. "I'll hold you to that," he said. "Now, what should I make for dinner?"

"If you make sauerkraut again, I'll end you," Edward grumped, finishing with the percolator.

Alfons grinned. "All right, no sauerkraut. We have bratwurst and mashed potatoes. Does that sound all right?"

Edward groaned. "Fine, make the sauerkraut. It goes well enough with that, and both are too bland by themselves."

Alfons laughed. "If you could cook at all, you could introduce me to some food from your world," he said.

Edward stuck his tongue out. "Maybe I _will_ just learn to cook."

"I look forward to it," Alfons told his god made manifest.

Alfons was a scientist, rational, reasonable, spiritual, but not religious. Not until he'd found god, anyway.


End file.
